Date: Sat, 9 Oct 2004 19:26:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: J Skorpio
Subject: Dustin and the Psychiatrist (authoritarian, interracial)
Dustin and the Psychiatrist
by jeromeskorpio@yahoo.com
Dustin sat anxiously in the waiting room for his first meeting with the
psychiatrist. There was a free counseling center on campus, but the
twenty-one year old senior needed to keep his "problem" a secret, even if
that meant paying $200 a session. Dustin would have to drop out of school
if gossip got around. He would never survive the humiliation.
Dustin was a clean-cut with wholesome good looks. He didn't seem at all
like someone with a problem only a shrink could solve. Longish dark blond
locks dangled over his large green eyes. Dustin had a slight cleft in his
chin, dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, soft pink kissable lips,
perfect teeth. He was fairly tall with broad shoulders, not especially
muscular but well-shaped and well-proportioned with a slim waist and narrow
hips. He wore a white Polo shirt tucked into a pair of pressed khakis
hugging his perfect round butt.
Dustin desperately needed help. His problem was too embarrassing to admit
to anyone but a professional. It would be difficult, but he was prepared to
confess everything to the psychiatrist. Life couldn't go on this way for
him.
"Dr. Ezinwa will see you now," announced the receptionist.
The door to the doctor's office opened. A tall, strikingly sharp Black Man
with a Brooklyn fade and goatee, sporting an expensive black wool suit with
matching vest, stood there smiling. He was one of the handsomest men
Dustin had ever seen. His skin was very dark, a deep rich brown. He had
penetrating eyes.
"Come in, Dustin," said the psychiatrist in a warm, deep baritone with an
unplaceable foreign accent. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."
Dustin gulped. Admitting his problem to Dr. Ezinwa was going to be a lot
harder than he expected.
Dr. Udeme Ezinwa offered Dustin a seat on the sofa. He sat opposite Dustin
in a large armchair. The office was lined with books. There was a
well-organized desk with a framed picture of a beautiful Black woman and
two young boys, evidently his wife and children. Diplomas hung on the
wall. The only light came from the large windows hung with plants. It was
a relaxed and comfortable setting.
"You don't look old enough to be a psychiatrist," said Dustin.
"Thank you for the compliment," chuckled Dr. Ezinwa. "I happen to be 28
years old. I was born in Nigeria, but I was educated in this country. Let
me assure you, however, that I am completely qualified to help you. On the
surface, you appear to be a normal, red-blooded American boy. Tell me, what
is troubling you?"
"I don`t . . . I don't know if I can tell you," Dustin faltered. "It's hard
for me to talk about. I'm afraid you won't understand."
"Anything you say in this office is kept between us," Dr. Ezinwa assured
him. "And trust me, nothing you say will shock me."
Although this man was only seven years older than he was, there was
something in his deep, strong voice that steadied Dustin and lent him
confidence. Dr. Ezinwa looked youthful, but his voice was resonant with
sincerity and wisdom. Dustin felt he could trust this man.
"Tell me about yourself," suggested the psychiatrist. "Just relax and take
your time. There is no problem so big that we can't deal with it."
"Okay, I'll try," said Dustin. "To begin with, I suppose that I should tell
you I'm gay."
"I see," said Dr. Ezinwa thoughtfully.
Dustin looked into the Nigerian's dark eyes to gauge his reaction. He was
struck again by how youthful and handsome the doctor appeared. Dustin
couldn't help but wonder what the doctor looked like without the suit. If
Dustin had passed Dr. Ezinwa on campus, he would have taken him for an
athlete. Or maybe a model. Ezinwa could have been either.
The irony of having to tell his problem to a Black doctor was oppressive,
but Dustin reminded himself that Dr. Ezinwa was a professional. He had to
trust him, no matter how embarrassing.
"Is your sexual orientation significant to the problem that has brought you
here?" asked the doctor, gently.
"Yes, it is," sighed Dustin. "I'm afraid it has everything to do with my
sex life."
"Explain," said the doctor, whose professional request somehow echoed in
Dustin's ears like a command.
"I'm gay, OK? " said Dustin. "I've known that about myself since as early
as I can remember. It's like I've always had this attraction for men. For
cock, actually. I like to suck cock. I'm not ashamed of that."
"That's good to hear," Dr. Ezinwa consoled. "There's nothing for you to be
ashamed of. Homosexuality is no longer considered a psychiatric disorder.
You were born into it. In fact, homosexuality is actually more prevalent
among some groups than was previously understood. Please, go on."
"It's like this. I've been sexually active since I was sixteen. I've
sucked a lot of cocks since then - mostly pick-ups and one night stands,
but only once a week, usually on Friday or Saturday night."
"That isn't what's bothering you, is it," asked Dr. Ezinwa, rhetorically.
"No, sucking a different cock each week didn't bother me," replied
Dustin. "The thing is, I was always attracted to men who were -- this is so
hard for me to talk about."
Dr. Ezinwa assured the patient, "You will feel better if you just tell me
everything."
Dustin hesitated, then summoned his resolve and went on: "The only guys I
had sex with were white men like myself. Then, about six months, I went
home with this. Black guy. I met him at a gay bar. After that, everything
changed."
Dr. Ezinwa nodded with understanding. "Go on, Dustin. Tell me what
changed."
"I never had anything against Black Men for sexual partners," elaborated
Dustin. "It's just that I preferred white guys. I only went home with
Curtis that night because I was so horny, but it turned out to be the best
sex I ever had."
"What was it like with this Curtis that made it so different from the white
men you had been with?"
"That's just it, I don't really know," said Dustin. "He had a really huge
cock, and I spent the night blowing him. He really enjoyed the experience.
He talked dirty to me. I guess that really turned me on, because the
nastier he talked, the more demanding and crude he became, the more I just
wanted to give him the blowjob of his life. Does that make me a slut,
doctor?"
"Not at all," said Dr. Ezinwa in his deep, reassuring voice. "It simply
means that you have a healthy libido for a gay man. But think back upon
this incident. Was there anything else that struck you as unusual at the
time?"
"Well, there was one thing," said Dustin. "It was his body odor."
"His body odor?"
"Yes, the way he smelled when I had my face pressed to his crotch. I'm
sorry, doctor, should I stop? Is this awkward for you?"
"Dustin, nothing you say can embarrass me. I've dealt with all kinds of
human conflicts. Tell me about your reaction to his body odor."
"It was so intense, like I never smelled a real man before. It was like a
hundred locker rooms distilled into a concentrated aroma. His crotch
smelled like musk, but sweeter and stronger. I can't describe it. It was an
exotic perfume. I know it sounds crazy, but it made me want to suck his
cock even more than usual. I couldn't get enough. The white guys I'd been
with usually came quickly and silently like they were in a hurry or
something, but Curtis just took his time. He told me exactly how to
pleasure his cock, when and how to suck, where to lick, that sort of
thing. For the first time in my life I actually felt like I was truly
worshipping a cock, that his pleasure was more important than my own. When
he finally had an orgasm, I never swallowed so much cum before. I never
needed it so badly. It was an incredible experience."
"Then what happened?"
"The next weekend I went home with a white bodybuilder. He had a fantastic
body with a seven inch cock, but after sucking him off, I wasn't satisfied.
I needed more. It happened again the weekend after that. Another white guy
with a decent sized cock, but no real satisfaction. I felt incomplete."
"What did you do?"
"From that point on I have only had sex with Black men," Dustin sighed. "I
don't know why, but I don't get the same feeling from sucking white guys
any more."
"You Americans have a saying, don't you?" said Dr. Ezinwa, with the barest
hint of amusement. "Once you go Black..."
"...you don't go back," finished Dustin. "I guess it's true, huh? The problem
is, now I can't get enough Black cock. I went from giving blowjobs once a
week to needing it every single night. Ever since that time with Curtis,
only Black cocks seem to satisfy me. Every night I get so horny that I go
out looking for more Black cock to suck. I've ended up in dives, train
stations, the park, just hoping some horny Black Man will come along
needing a blowjob. I've even paid for it. Two nights ago I gave a homeless
Black Man $100 to suck his cock because I had to have it. It was like a
craving."
"I see," said the doctor matter-of-factly, almost indifferently. "Is that
all?"
"There's one more thing, I guess," said Dustin, gaining confidence. "When
I'm with a Black man, my cock doesn't get hard anymore. I'm horny as hell,
but for some reason my cock goes soft. It's only after the encounter that
I'm able to masturbate."
"Let me ask you a very personal question," said the doctor. "Would you say
that you have a large penis?"
"No, not really," said Dustin. "I'm about six inches hard, maybe six and a
half on a good day."
"And the Black Men you've been with, would you consider them, shall we say,
more generously endowed?"
"Oh, definitely," said Dustin. "Most of them have been at least 8 inches
long, some even larger. I guess the rumors are true."
"The rumors?"
"That Black Men have bigger cocks than whites."
"I see," smiled Dr. Ezinwa. "Well, most rumors have a basis in fact,
although to be sure there is room for exaggeration."
"What's wrong with me, doctor?" pleaded Dustin. "My grades are suffering. I
can't sleep. All I think about anymore is sucking Black cocks and
swallowing Black sperm. It's like I can't get enough! What is wrong with
me?"
"There is nothing wrong with you," said Dr. Ezinwa, calmly. "This is a
fairly common occurrence when there are sexual relations between white
males such as yourself and Black Men."
"Can you help me, doctor?" begged Justin. "I want to stop. I mean, I like
sucking cock, but this has got me out of control. I can't help myself."
"You must try to understand," said Dr. Ezinwa, "that this compulsion you
feel is unavoidable. The societal injunction against sexual contact between
the races is based on something more than mere racial prejudice. There is a
reason why white people should not encounter Black Men sexually. In my own
country, there is a clear understanding of this problem, but unfortunately
in America where Black and white men live side by side this problem is
doomed to constantly recur."
The Nigerian psychiatrist explained further: "You see, it was never meant
that caucasians such as yourself should be exposed to African Men, not on
sexual terms. There are too many cultural and physiological differences to
go into, but to be brief, white males like yourself are totally unprepared
for the consequences. There happens to be a pheromone in the Black Man's
sweat glands that induces sexual surrender. You probably don't know that
the white race is a subsidiary, genetically impoverished line descended
from Black Africans. Inhaling the scent of Black Men you fell under the
biological imperative usually experienced by women. The Black Man's
pheromones have the effect on women of making them sexually submissive.
It's simply Nature's way of assuring the procreation of the strong."
Dr. Ezinwa concluded, "So you see, after inhaling your friend Curtis's
pheromones and ingesting his biologically superior seed, you found yourself
addicted, if that is not too strong a term, to Black Men."
"But it's ruining my life," said Dustin, almost in tears. "I can't think
of anything else but sucking Black cock. I want it all the time."
"It's sad, really," said Dr. Ezinwa. "There actually is no cure."
"Isn't there anything I can do?" begged Dustin. All he wanted was to be
free of this compulsion, haunted night and day by pornographic thoughts of
big Black cocks spilling with hot African sperm, driven to seek out Black
Men for sexual relief.
"There is no cure," said Dr. Ezinwa. "All that I can offer you is temporary
relief from your insatiable cravings."
It was then that Dustin saw that Dr. Ezinwa had unzipped his pleated woolen
slacks. The doctor slowly pulled out a large, but soft, uncircumsized Black
cock, some five inches long.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" inquired Dr. Ezinwa. His deep accent
was almost hypnotic, but no more so than the sight of his exposed, soft,
thick, velvety black penis. "Do you consider my bura to be large?"
"Your bura?"
"I'm sorry," apologized the doctor. "Bura is the term my people use for
penis."
"Well, yes, your bura is plenty big," said Dustin.
"Do you feel the desire to suck my bura right now, adabesi?"
"Adabsi?"
"Again, I apologize," said the doctor. "Adebesi is what my people call a
man who sucks penises like a woman. It is also a term we sometimes use to
refer to Europeans and white Americans, such as yourself. Tell me, do you
feel the desire to suck my bura, adebesi?
"Yes. . . I do," admitted Dustin. He couldn't take his eyes off that
velvety, Nigerian cock.
"Then, I suggest you come over here right now and see how it feels in your
mouth," said the doctor.
It was not a suggestion. In any case, Dustin couldn't help himself. He was
on his knees before the doctor at once.
"Kiss the head of my bura," instructed the doctor.
Dustin planted a sloppy wet kiss on the huge sheathed phallus. He felt it
quiver and swell at the touch of his lips. There was so much vibrant power
contained in that pipe of ebony flesh.
"Now, I want you to lick the shaft up and down like you were licking a
lollipop, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," said Dustin.
"You called me Sir, do you realize that?"
"You're a doctor," Dustin replied.
"Have you addressed the other Black Men you've serviced as Sir?"
"Yes, I guess so," the whiteboy acknowledged.
"That's good, adabesi," said Dr. Ezinwa. "It's a sign you know your place."
"My place?" asked Dustin.
"Your place, what?" demanded the Nigerian.
"My place . . . Sir?"
"That's a good boy," said the doctor. "You're learning."
There was no longer merely a hint of amusement. Dustin could hear the
irresistable authority in the Nigerian's deep, masculine voice. "Now, show
me how much you want to please my bura. Start sucking."
The Nigerian's cock swelled up and stiffened inside Dustin's hot, wet
mouth. It grew so big that Dustin had to stretch open his mouth as wide as
possible. The girth of Dr. Ezinwa's cock crammed his mouth entirely. It had
to be at least nine inches, probably more.
As the huge, thick Black cock forced its way down into Dustin's throat, the
whiteboy's face came close to the doctor's pubic hair. The musky scent was
overwhelming. Dustin's own cock was soft, but his horniness increased a
thousand-fold. For the next forty minutes all Dustin did was suck up and
down on this huge phallus. Time seemed to stand still.
The doctor leaned back in his chair and issued instructions. His accent
became more pronounced.
"Suck my bura, whiteboy," he commanded. "Suck it for me good. Show my bura
the respect it deserves. That's right, suck it hard, use your mouth, lips,
and throat to respect my bura. Take all of it inside you. Suck on it. This
is what you need, my little white American boy. There is no turning back."
Dustin sucked furiously. It hurt his jaw and throat taking so much cock in
his mouth, but he persisted. He had to have it. The Nigerian's delicious
body odor seemed to possess him. He had to have this bura. He had to earn
its reward. He wanted more than anything else to please the tall, muscular
African in his expensive suit.
After forty minutes of intensive fellatio, Dustin felt the Nigerian's bura
begin to throb until it exploded with one burst of sperm after another. The
hot, foamy cum filled his mouth.
"Swallow my seed, adabesi!" said the doctor. "Swallow it!"
Dustin did as he was told, forcing the copious ejaculate down his
esophagus.
"You did a good job, little whiteboy," said Ezinwa, breathing heavily after
his orgasm but still maintaining a professional composure. "Yes, that was
very good, but there is still room for improvement."
The doctor rose and zipped up his pants. Dustin was still on his knees,
looking up at the man he had hoped would help him with his problem.
"As I informed you," said Dr. Ezinwa, "there is no cure for your
condition. What matters now is that you become reconciled to your proper
place in life. You will always be a cocksucker. There is no changing
that. Only now you understand, I think, that cock sucking is not for your
selfish pleasure alone. We will have to work on your acceptance of this
fact."
"Then there is no hope for me?" asked Dustin.
"Hope? There is much hope for you, my little aibu." That last word was
pronounced `oyee-bo.' "I'm sorry, that is another word used in my
country. Aibu means a caucasian. Perhaps in time you will prove yourself to
be of much use to Black Men, but much more practice is required. Tell me,
did you enjoy sucking my bura and swallowing my seed?"
"Yes, very much," said Dustin, relishing the taste of Dr.Ezinwa's sperm
lingering in his mouth.
"Many more treatments are required before you can reach your full
potential. You are only beginning to learn what it means to worship a real
Man," said Dr. Ezinwa. "Pay the receptionist on your way out. Your next
session will be tomorrow at 10 AM, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," Dustin complied. "But my classes, Sir. I'm doing terribly in
school right now because of this obsession. All I think about is Black
cock."
"Don't think of it as an obsession. You must learn to make priorities in
life. In the long run, which is really more important: how well you perform
in school or how well you perform for Black Men? I want you to give that
some serious consideration. However, for the time being, the only bura I
want you to think about is mine, do you understand? I want you to focus on
my bura from now on. If you see another Black Man, I want you to resist
submitting to him. I expect you to bring your desires to me. Do you
understand me, aibu?"
"Yes, Sir," said Dustin.
"There is one more thing," added Dr. Ezinwa. "I don't want you to
masturbate until we meet again. In fact, I don't want you to masturbate
until you have permission from me, do you understand? There are other ways
in which your caucasian body can be of use to Black Men, but we will
explore those possibilities at another time, do you understand me?"
"Yes, Sir, I understand," said Dustin meekly. His rectum tingled and
perspired like a cunt lubricated with desire, anticipating the Nigerian's
intentions.
"Then, I will see you tomorrow, aibu."
Dustin left the doctor's office, feeling for the first time in months that
there was hope. Distanced from the Nigerian's masterful presence, Dustin
felt his inadequate white cock begin to stiffen, but he was going to take
the doctor's prescription and wait for permission to relieve himself. He
looked forward to the next session with extreme anticipation.
After Dustin left, the handsome Nigerian doctor sat behind his desk and
muttered to himself, "Typical American faggot."
THE END